


ZCOM: Ghosts and Shadows

by SoulUntraveled



Series: ZCOM [2]
Category: XCOM (Video Games) & Related Fandoms, Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Character Death, F/M, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Military, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader Driven Character Creator!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2019-11-14 12:12:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18052298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulUntraveled/pseuds/SoulUntraveled
Summary: Sequel to ZCOM: Rise of the Resistance.Against all odds Judy Hopps has survived her first week as a part of XCOM and even helped secure a tentative alliance with two of the most powerful resistance factions on Earth.Things were looking up, despite the tragic price paid to get this far. New allies in the form of the Reapers and Skirmishers breathed life into XCOM's struggle against the Aliens.However for Judy these proved to be hollow victories.XCOM's only bunny operative struggled to find her place among the rank and file aboard the Avenger, even as the War with the Aliens ignites into a worldwide resistance movement, engulfing the Earth in a flood of hell-fire and blood.Judy could do nothing to stem the tide, except hold for dear life or else she and all she loved would be swept away to join the rest of the Ghosts and Shadows of a dying world.





	1. Bloodied, Bruised, Alive

Chapter 1: Bloodied, Bruised. Alive.

The extraction had been messy.  A tangled blur of adrenaline, clattering gunfire, Yelling, and frantic shoving against the relentless press of decaying corpses clawing at their flesh and armour.

On the way up the cable, Judy had very nearly been plucked off her cable by a giraffe that looked several years into a dirt nap and Grizzoli was covered in nearly a dozen small Lost gnawing, empty-eyed, on his ballistic armour and exposed flesh.

 

It was a miracle everyone had made it through the Horde that came crashing down on them, Outrider most of all.

 

How the fox untouched by time had even managed to move after that eight-story free fall with the Assassin was a mystery. His trench coat was sliced into ribbons and drenched in purple and red blood, revealing sparse glimpses of his custom body armour and russet fur. 

 

The Reaper was near delirious from pain and blood loss. He could barely stand, let alone fight off a swarm of Lost. He made it though, just barely grabbing onto the jungle penetrator platform before Firebrand reeled them up to the Skyranger.

 

The surviving ZCOM operatives collapsed onto the floor gasping, bleeding, trembling and crying.

 

Grizzoli was still wrestling with a couple of persistent undead passengers gnawing on his shoulder plates. Finally fed up with struggling to pull the creatures off, the bear threw himself against the Skyranger’s interior, squashing the small Lost with his large mass; making their ashen green bodies burst like grotesque dust filled balloons.

 

Adriana stumbled off the platform and crumpled to the floor, curled tightly in a ball around her smoking shotgun, Alistair’s bloody dog tags tangled in her fingers as she cradled them and finally let go of her control, her shoulders jerking as she let out a helpless sob.

 

Mox limped over, falling into one of the troop seats lining the hull and ripping his helmet off as he greedily sucked in unfiltered air like a sponge in water. His yellow robotic eyes fluttered open and closed almost as if he was trying to reboot himself after just barely surviving the ordeal.

When Judy’s platform slammed home it practically launched her onto the floor. The gray rabbit stumbled a few trembling steps before collapsing onto the ground in an ungraceful tail and ear twitching heap. Everything hurt. her muscles throbbed something fierce and only grew more painful with every rapid beat of her little bunny heart.

_ I’m just gonna… gonna lay here for a while. _

Mind made up Judy bit back a scream as she forced her body to uncurl from her fetal position and flop to her back with a numb sense of finality. She didn’t feel a thing, emotionally speaking. She was too tired. Logically the doe knew she was angry, confused, and devastated from losing Alistair and learning who Outrider was.

 

Right now though her brain was just refusing to work, her body reverting to a primal sort of survival mode.

 

Gasping in short breaths of air and fighting back the urge to dry heave from the intense stress she had just faced, Judy dragged her rifle close and settled for staring up at the Skyranger’s red-tinted interior lights.

_ Whatever, I can deal with everything later.  _

The thud of another body landing on the floor next to her caused Judy to involuntarily jerk away from the sound. With no small amount of reluctance, and knowing that her insatiable curiosity would eventually get the better of her, the doe rolled her head around and found herself muzzle to muzzle with a red fox sprawled on the floor next to her.

 

Nicholas Wilde’s eyes were closed and his mouth open as he sucked in lungfuls of air just like Judy was doing. Looking closer the rabbit saw a pink ribbon of muscle lolled out of one side of his mouth as he panted in a very uncontrolled and undignified manner.

 

Thinking back to the impression she first got from the Reaper, and how she had told him she hated him Judy now found she was conflicted. When she had said those things to him she had been spitting those words at a cold robotic mask.

 

At the time he wasn’t a person, he was a faceless,  _ soulless _ creature that let two of her fellow operatives die in New Providence and was perfectly willing to leave her and John Wolford to die over a silly deal.

 

He was the enemy, one of many.

 

Now though… now that she had a face and a name to put to that enemy, especially a name and face belonging to someone like Nick Wilde… she wasn’t so sure, and it scared the pellets out of her.

The bay door closed, shrouding the bunny in cold and painful darkness. A darkness that was reflected by the twisting thoughts that tormented her.

_ I don’t know what to think. Not anymore. _

\------------------------------------

A booster seat.

Of all the ways to end a mission, of all the carrot-picking things they could have pulled on her, this was by far the most humiliating.

They strapped her into a booster seat.

Bloodied, bruised, and exhausted; physically, mentally, and emotionally and right after wading through a literal  _ horde  _ of undead monsters, they put her in a fluffing Cub-sized  _ BOOSTER SEAT. _

Judy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

The poor bun felt like an armed toddler, still wearing her armour and with her rifle tucked against her chest even as she was tucked and strapped into the moulded booster seat with her big rabbit feet comically dangling several feet off the floor.

When the onboard medics, Bucky and Pronk, had helped Judy to her seat and she found herself being tucked into that damnable device, Grizzoli had nearly tumbled back out of the Skyranger in a fit of laughter. Judy felt nearly all the blood leave her tiny body and rush up to the inside of her ears in embarrassment.

 

She had tried to convince Bucky and Pronk to let her find a real seat but she was firmly denied, and when she began to struggle her laughably pathetic efforts to free herself from the Kudu and Oryx were easily brushed off and Judy resigned herself to death by humiliation.

 

Doing her level best to avoid making eye contact with any of the other operators and firmly ignoring Grizzoli’s scratchy chuckles every time he looked in her direction; Judy rested her exhausted head against the back of the seat.

 

Her still burning muscles left her small body wracked by wave after wave of throbbing pain so deep even her bones ached, but at least she didn’t feel like her stomach was trying to climb up her throat anymore.

_ Three hours. Just three more hours until we get back to the Avenger and I can finally lay down and sleep for like a week. _

With that comforting thought beating back the doubts and guilt from the forefront of her mind, Judy rested her head against the back of her seat and let the muffled roar of the Skyranger’s engine lull her to some semblance of sleep.

“Don’t touch me.”

No such luck. An unfamiliar voice with a smooth tenor that felt as frigid as steel cut through the engine’s roar like a hot knife through butter.

 

Judy’s eyes flew open and flicked to her left towards the voice. Nicholas Wilde was in the seat right next to her looking just about how she felt. Beat up, bloodied, and exhausted. Standing over him was Pronk the oryx medic holding an odd red and white device shaped a bit like a cordless power drill with a nozzle.

 

Pronk had a hoof out in a calming manner while the other held the device away from the fox staring down at him.

 

“Look, mam, I’m just tryin’ to do my job. This is just a Med-kit. I need to seal those wounds an’ anesthetize ya so we can stitch you up-“ as the Oryx spoke he slowly aimed the Med-Kit at the reaper’s still bleeding chest.

 

Pronk froze in his tracks, a tiny squeak of terror squeezing from his throat when he suddenly found himself staring down the business end of a massive revolver with a pair of savage green eyes staring down the sights.

 

Nick spoke slowly, his smoothly masculine tenor, a voice so unlike the garbled static Judy had gotten used to hearing, sent chills up the little bunny’s spine.

 

“I said. Don’t. Rutting. Touch. Me.” Nick growled.

 

The slim vulpine’s chest jerked as he sucked in a painful rattling breath and shoved the trembling 

Oryx’s head away with his revolver’s barrel. Pronk awkwardly squawked and fell on his tail, making the entire room go dead silent.

 

“Outriderrr.”

 

Nick never moved the revolver’s barrel away from the medic sprawled on the floor, though he did flick his eyes questioningly towards the Skirmisher seated next to him and quirking a brow. Pratal Mox held an armoured paw out soothingly towards the irritated vulpine while keeping a respectable distance.

 

“He isss only tryinggg to help.” Mox gestured at Pronk’s scared wide-eyed expression.

 

“No drugs.” The Reaper affirmed, his voice smoothing back from his harsh growl to a smokey tenor. “No needles. No thank you.”

 

“But-“ Pronk started to protest.

 

Until Nick flicked the hammer back with an ominous  _ click _ .

 

A dangerous aura rolled off the small red fox, setting even Mox’s fur on edge.

 

“If you so much as point a needle in my direction I will give your forehead a new ear hole, that way what I’m saying might actually get into that thick skull of yours. Do I make myself clear?” Pronk and his fellow medic Bucky, who had been tending to Adriana, seemed to shrink in on themselves.

 

“Y-yes, sir!” Pronk squeaked.

 

Satisfied with his answer Nick lowered the revolver’s hammer and flicked the weapon back into the folds of his ruined trench coat so fast it seemed as though he had simply made the massive pistol vanish in thin air. Everyone in the room relaxed and Judy exhaled a breath she hadn’t even been aware she had been holding.

 

“You’rre still hurrrt,” Mox pointed out after a beat of silence. “You’rre going to need ssstitchess eventually.”

 

“Don’t you worry about little ol’ me,” Nick drawled lightly as if he hadn’t just pressed a gun to a mammal’s head. A coal-black paw slid into a belt pouch hidden underneath his trench coat. “I’ll just take care of it myself.”

 

A disgruntled snort drew the Reaper’s gaze to Grizzoli seated across from him, the grizzly staring back at him with a sour measure of disgust and disbelief.

 

“Is there a problem Gregor?” Outrider asked as he produced a small vial of cleaning alcohol and a pawful of bandages, the ghost of a sly grin pulling at the fringe of his muzzle. “Or is your old age finally catching up to you?”

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Grizzoli snarled, though Judy caught the slightest tinge of fear at the edge of his voice.

 

“Thank you for reminding me. I had forgotten.” It was Outrider’s turn to snort as his paws flittered over the nasty gash down the middle of his chest with practiced ease.

Judy blanched as the fox had to peel his sheered armour from his bloodstained fur. Some of the blood had begun to coagulate, sealing his armour against his fur like a grotesque glue, leaving much of his already red fur matted and foul. Even Bucky and Pronk looked a bit nauseous at the grizzly sight.

_ T-that looks really bad. _

Judy felt honest concern and a tiny tinge of guilt tug at her chest. Scraping together her courage, the little rabbit leaned forward in her booster seat and coughed to gain the fox’s attention. When Nick turned his haunting emerald gaze to her Judy felt her bravery scatter to the wind, leaving her staring into his eyes with her mouth hanging open like an idiot.

“It’s rude to stare at someone like they’re a snack you know,” Nick husked around a sly smirk. “The way you’re checking me out… one might think you want to just  _ eat me up _ .”

 

And just like that, any concern for the wounded fox went up in smoke. Judy’s mouth snapped shut into a frown. That only seemed to amuse the infuriating vulpine further, his sly grin spreading to crinkle his brow.

 

A grin that never reached his eyes. The emerald hell-fire Judy had seen in those glowing orbs had died now that the Reaper’s rage had been exhausted.

Now… now Nick’s eyes were hollow, like those of a corpse.

Judy turned from that haunting gaze. She couldn’t look him in the face anymore. She suddenly understood. Those were the eyes of a broken mammal, a mammal that had lost everything. No. more than everything. She understood because…

 

_ His eyes… his eyes are like mine. _

  
  


\--------------------------

A/N: ZCOM’s Back baby! Hell yeah!

Welcome to the long-awaited sequel to ZCOM: Rise of the Resistance! I’m stoked to continue this adventure with all of you!

An adventure y’all can be a part of!

I, of course, am referring to ZCOM’s Character Dossier! A Dossier built by readers like you!

For those that have played X-COM or X-COM 2, this is a familiar concept. Every soldier you command is unique and just like in ZCOM once they die they stay dead. It’s intense, brutal, and exhilarating to witness a team you have built an emotional attachment to beat the odds against the relentless Alien threat or die trying.

 

Want to join the world of ZCOM and witness a small piece of yourself in X-COM’s fight against Earth’s Alien overlords?

 

To submit your very own character into the ZCOM dossier I need these few things:

  1.      Name, Age, Gender, Species
  2.      Brief history (i.e. lived in the woods since the invasion until being found by XCOM scouts)
  3.      Basic personality traits (i.e. Optimistic, Clumsy, Womanizer)
  4.      At least two positive traits (i.e. Good with a rifle, funny, fearless)
  5.      At least two flaws (i.e. Hates foxes, fear of fire, alcoholic)



Post your character into the comment section below!

One more thing. Thank you for your support. All of you. Readers like you make writing worth it. Y’all are awesome.

I hope to see you all very soon!

-Untraveled

\---: Character Dossier :---

_ Creator: dethwulf_Zero (AO3) _

Name: Alistair Stålvarg

Age: 25 Years Old

Deceased: Slain 10/17/2035 Operation War Banner

Gender: Male

Species: Red Wolf

Appearance: Tall for his species, Scars across the face and back, Heterochromatic eyes (Steel gray/Deep green), Likes dressing like his father’s favourite grunge bands (ripped jeans, Tee shirts, and flannels)

History: Before recruited by XCOM Alistair lived in relative peace out in a fringe settlement with his family. As the eldest of three brothers, Alistair often treats mammals smaller than himself as younger than himself, regardless of their actual age. A big family guy with a stubborn view of life that has caused problems when dealing with mammals from other walks of life and points of view. A heavy drinker off duty, he curbs his habit when on a mission, though he has been known to suffer from withdrawal when on longer scouting missions.

Basic Personality Traits: Outgoing, Athletic, Self-conscious and insecure

Positive Traits: Tough, Fearless, Kindhearted

Negative Traits: Chronic Alcoholic, Overbearing at times

_ Creator: Carbonrap45 (AO3) _

Name: Adriana Whifur 

Age: 35

Gender: Female

Species: Coyote

Appearance: Black fur and deep golden-brown eyes with a lean muscular physique. Dresses light in favour of mobility and stealth, often seen with a recon hood and half mask with a shemagh around her shoulders.

Brief History: Grew up on the streets of Zootopia before the invasion. After capture by an Advent raid early in their occupation of earth Adriana escaped from custody and has been on the run ever since with extensive experience in paw to paw combat.

Personality: Paranoid, determined, lets slip little about herself while willing to talk to others

Positive traits: Empathic to those that suffered under Advent, has knowledge of combatting most Advent trooper types.

Flaws: Has little faith in new recruits and often refers to them as “fresh meat”, paranoia tends to flare up at the worst of times.

_ Name: CommanderOps (AO3) _

Name Gregor 'Brick' Grizzoli 

Age: 40

Gender: Male

Species: Grizzly Bear

History: Gregor was a fresh face heavy weapons specialist when the XCOM Headquarters was assaulted by the Invaders. He and his comrades/squad buddies that also were freshly promoted to some specialist was tasked defending a maintenance tunnel. They bravely held it till the dreaded sound of skittering from above. He was the lone survivor of a squad of six that escaped with the other survivors of the base. He continued to dutifully serve what was left of XCOM, but as the years go by and the more comrades he lost he became slowly numb to the loss of the life that he regards any new rookie as just another number to the wall. He was denied the rank of Sergeant based upon the mixed review of his leadership, leading successful operations but at the cost of an injured/dead rookie.

Basic Personality Traits: Serious, Reserved

Positive Traits: Heavy Weapons Specialist, Strong, Prior War experience

Negative Traits: Chronic Alcoholic, Hates Robots of any form, PTSD with Chrysalids.

\---------------------

Editor’s Note:

 

Phew, you could cut the tension with a knife there for a bit. Good thing our dear friend Nick probably has a bunch of them stuffed in that coat of his.

Knives truly are such important instruments, eh? You can go straight from spreading jam on a slice of bread to shanking an alien in the kidneys.

Wait, do the aliens in ZCOM even have kidneys worth stabbing? Hmm, I’ll have to ask Untraveled about that one… 

  
  



	2. I'm here, I'm back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I will add the character dossier at the end of the chapter in the near future, I'm working on this by my cell so I don't have access to my other documents right now.
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 2: I’m Here, I’m Back

 

“SHEN! You better open this door right now!”

“Or you’ll d-d-do what *Hic* Exactly?” A tittering drunken female voice giggled through four inches of reinforced steel door. “A-are you gonna *Hic* Cute me to death?”

Jack Tygan dragged a paw down his striped face and sighed. The few curious bystanders drawn to the good doctor’s shouting match with the sealed bar door snickered.

Jack turned his cold blue eyes on the peanut gallery behind him and leveled a frosty glare at the Bengal Tiger and Lion hardly caring to stifle their mirth at his failing negotiations with a certain drunken vixen.

“Cemsay, Leroy? Don’t you two have somewhere else better to be?”

“ ’Fraid not Doc.” The Bengal tiger Leroy chuckled. “Listenin’ to two natural enemies verbally spar through a steel door is ‘bout as best an entertainment I’ve had all week!” Cemsay snickered in agreement, his golden mane shaking.

Jack opened his mouth to further berate the overgrown felines but was interrupted by a tipsy croon from through the bar door.

“Short bunny! *Hic* Striped bunny! Little *Hic* B-ball of fur! Nice Bunny! Cute Bunny! *Hic* More, more, more!”

Jack buried his head in his paw as the two cats held onto each other for support crying with laughter.

“I’m a hare for serendipity’s sake…” the heckled lapine’s sigh going unheard over the lion and tiger’s laughter.

Perhaps leaving a heartbroken Skye alone in a room with a cooler of vodka spiked pawpsicles hadn’t been one of Doctor Jack Tygan’s smartest moves, he realizes. It could be worse though. Jack may not be a therapist or physiologist but he was concerned that Skye may attempt to do something drastic.

Suicide was a very real possibility. It wouldn’t be the first time XCOM had suffered such a casualty.

Jack had been banging his head fruitlessly against the bar door since Skye had locked him and everyone else out over two- no, now its been three- hours ago.

At first fear for the arctic fox’s life had gripped Jack Tygan’s heart like a vise. He had all but groveled for her to unlock the door and let him in. She, of course, had not.

Jack didn’t trust her enough to leave her completely alone but as long as he stood there shouting at a cold steel airlock Skye would be occupied with responding to his jabs with her own.

At first she had been snippy and furious. Her answers to his pleas were either shots at his masculinity or his past employment with ADVENT. Something Jack knew Skye held against him like a razor against his throat. He didn’t hold it against her though. Jack had been working for the enemy willingly and knowingly. he had taken the easy and comfortable route during the Alien’s occupation. Until recently of course. Joining XCOM had been the most hare-brained and liberating decisions of his entire life.

His most recent decisions, however, were perhaps not the most well thought out. For the life of him Jack couldn’t figure out why he had thought it was wise to leave the emotionally fragile vixen when the alarm had sounded upon hearing Wolford’s convoy being ambushed, not even thinking about the poor fox on the verge of another nervous breakdown next to him. Not 30 seconds later Jack cursed his stupidity and rushed back to Skye’s side only to meet with a locked door and a hurt and angry vixen screaming at him to go and stay away from her.  

About an hour into their shouting match Skye began to dig into the cooler were the pawpsicles they had made together had finished freezing. The pawpsicles made with four bottles of 196 proof import vodka. The kind that can curl a cat’s whiskers a ten paces. Just one pawpsicle was enough to knock a bull elephant on his tail.

It was by Skye’s second pawpsicle that Jack discovered that drunk Skye was very flirty and he was in no way shape or form equipped to deal with _That._

Skye was already 20 deep by the third hour and Jack had just given up at finding a way combat the hammered vixen’s drunken advances.

Besides, this would be golden blackmail value later down the line. Jack had always been curious to see just how red an embarrassed snow white arctic fox’s face can turn.

Thank Serendipity for voice recorders.

Jack quirked a miniscule smirk and looked down to check to see of the little voice recorder in his breast pocket was still on before schooling his features and banging on the door again.

“E-excuse me? Doctor T-Tigen?” A nervous ocelot squeaked, pausing Jack’s futile efforts to shout a door open. Jack turned around to address the nervous little feline dressed in an orange engineer uniform.

“It’s _Tygan._ Doctor Tygan.” Jack corrected with a raw cough. Must be losing a voice a little from yelling through an airlock for the past 3 hours. “What can I do for you?”

The ocelot shot the lion and tiger towering over him on either side a timid apologetic glance and cleared his throat to address the stern hare nearly as tall as he was.

“I’m sorry Doctor T- Ty-“ The cat looked so nervous he was visibly shaking. Was he really that intimidating Jack wondered?

“Tygan.” Jack took pity on the poor kit and decided to cut to the chase, if only to keep the shaking ocelot from having a nervous breakdown from just trying to talk to him. “I think I remember you. You work up on the bridge right?”

The ocelot brightened a little at being recognized and proudly puffed his chest out. “Y-yes sir! My name is Felix! I’m a communications technician.”

Jack chuckled dryly at Felix’s bubbly pride in his job title. Cemsay and Leroy were both trading amused grins as well. Ah, the innocence of youth.

“Does the Commander need me for something Felix?” Jack asked. Out of the corner of his hearing he heard a muffled thump and a drunken curse from someone losing their balance from pressing her ear against the airlock door. The only indication Jack had heard his drunk eavesdropper was one of his long ears swiveling towards the door behind him.

“Oh! Y-yes sir!” Felix continued sheepishly. “The Commander wanted me to inform you that the Skyranger is going to be here in about half an hour.”

Jack and the two large cats perked up at the good news. Jack was sure that Skye heard too and was likely still listening with bated breath. An invisible weight he had seemed to have forgotten was there lifted from the air. The operatives were safe and coming home.

But where one anxiety was eased another took its place.

“Are there any casualties?”

Felix lowered his head and chewed the inside of his cheek.

“Sergeant… Sergeant Stalvarg, they-!” The young cat choked as if it forcing those wretched words past his lips were painful. Cemsay and Leroy’s smirks bleed into horrified stares. “He was- They… There was nothing they could do…”  

“I’ll spin up med-bay.” Jack replied in his normal frosty tone. The time for gentle coaxing was over. “Are there any other casualties? Did the other Faction Representatives make it out too?”

“Both did Sir. The- the other casualty was the R-Reaper but he is conscious and ambulatory.”

Tygan blew through his nose and sent a quick prayer that that little hiccup with getting that Reaper wounded wouldn’t come back to bite them in the ass during negotiations later. What exactly happened in Zootopia?

“Very good Felix. Go tell Commander Bogo that I will take care of it. Also wake up Nathan Oncason and get him down here to open this door. I know he just had a 36 hour shift but I really need this door open.”

“Y-yes sir!” Felix’s little spotted tail flicked behind him enthusiastically and he bolted with anxious energy down the hall and back to the bridge to complete his tasks.

Jack fixed both Cemsay and Leroy with a clinical glare, causing both large cats to flinch back from under the diminutive lapine’s cold gaze. “Can I trust you two to keep by this door while I get Med-Bay prepped? Keep her talking. If she’s busy making fun of you she’s not hurting herself.”

The lion and tiger exchanged brief glances and both hardened their once jovial expressions and nodded solemnly.

“Thank you.” Jack knocked on the door behind him and called through the steel barrier. “Shen, I have to leave for a while but I promise I will be back as quickly as I can. Cemsay and Leroy will keep you company until then, okay?”

Skye didn’t answer but Jack thought he heard a tiny sob from behind the door. The small sound punched Jack straight in the heart but he had no other choice but to leave. He grimaced and pressed a paw against his aching chest before swallowing his hurt and making haste towards Med-Bay. He only looked back once at the locked bar door before he shook off his distracting thoughts and began to run through his mental checklist as he raced away hoping that no other mammal is lost this terrible night.

\---------------------------

“Thank you Felix, you can go.”

“Y-yes Commander!”

Commander Bogo watched the perky ocelot rush off to his monitoring terminal and turned his seat back around to his own terminal and sagged back into his seat as exhaustion, both physical and emotional, washed over him in a suffocating flood. This day has been a nightmare from the start, first Shen’s stunt with Wilde’s video and now the negations seemed to have collapsed. Someone tipped the Aliens off and it may have just cost him Wolford and dozens of brave soldiers and possibly an alliance between the Reapers and Skirmishers. This is the worst case nightmare scenario and Bogo can only sit back and pray that this shit-storm can somehow be salvaged.

Bogo looked down at this terminal’s clock and blinked. He had been so lost in his head that he had eaten up 20 minutes just staring into space. The Flight Officer’s terminal gave a happy chirp prompting the mountain ram manning the display to jump to his hooves.

“Commander, the Skyranger is back!”

The ram’s declaration snatched hold of everyone’s attention causing the background conversations to instantly go silent and every eye turn towards Bogo.

“Thank you LT.” The older cape buffalo levered himself from his seat and grunted in pain as his legs and back popped in protest. He blinked and realized that every mammal on the bridge was still staring silently at him.

“Do I have something on my face?” He asked. A few of the cowed technicians sheepishly shook their heads. “Well then, carry on!”

Muted conversations bubbled up in the bridge as Bogo trooped out of the bridge with nary a limp or grimace, the only indication that he was hurting at all was his balled up fists and the sound of grinding teeth. When he was finally alone in the passageway Bogo relaxed and allowed the heavy limp in his throbbing right leg he had been fighting to show itself.

Whatever stasis technology the Aliens had used to preserve him kept his body in relatively good condition, virtually unchanged for 20 years. Tygan had noted a minor case of muscle atrophy and Bogo’s joints sometimes felt as if they were grinding on broken glass but he more or less felt fit as a fiddle, or at least as fit as a beat-up cape buffalo in his mid-40’s can be anyway.

The buffalo sidestepped a few technicians that had stopped in the hallway upon overhearing the flight officer’s announcement, their eyes trained on his huge imposing hulk as he finally found the stairway up to the landing pad. Whether they were staring because of Shen revealing Wilde’s video, respect for his position, or because of his reputation remained to be seen.

Ascending the stairs leading up to the stern mounted landing pad Bogo finally caught up with the herd of off duty mammals and nosy technicians itching to catch a glimpse of the Skirmisher and Reaper as well as try to help the exhausted operatives. Bogo scowled and marched his way through the congested hallway.

“If you're not helping the wounded off the ship, then GET OUT OF THE WAY!” He bellowed and waded through the blabbering crowd, scattering the technicians like bowling pins.

Bogo managed to get onto the landing pad just as the Skyranger’s sleek hull pitched in a gentle turn and threw out its skids in time to catch the textured surface in a flawless and skilled entry. The jumpship’s twin turbines threw up a cloud of superheated dust, only Bogo himself and the few aviation personnel that were actually supposed to be there stood unflinching as they scrambled to secure the Skyranger’s struts to the landing surface and assess the damage to the jumpship’s control surfaces as Doctor Tygan’s medical staff surged forward with a host of medical equipment the second the Skyranger’s ramp began to lower.

Bogo felt the landing pad shudder and begin to lower into the Avenger’s hold as the swarm of mammals scrambling to aid his operatives and check vitals. It was impossible to see through the throng of bodies, even someone as tall as Bogo. He could make out Grizzoli’s head above the crowd before sinking down to allow the shorter medics access to him. He couldn’t make out the rest of his team though he did catch a glimpse of an odd jungle cat dressed in bizarre white and red armor.

Technicians and medics broke off in groups as they completed their assigned tasks. Several of them respectfully greeted the tired commander standing vigil on the edge of the landing pad. Their hails were more out of acknowledgement for their commander rather than an honest greeting.

“Good Evening Commander.” A chestnut mare in technician yellow murmured as she opened the hold’s bay doors.

“Good evening corporal.” _Is it really almost night already?_

“Commander.” A vaguely familiar wombat with a permanent scowl on his stubby muzzle grunted as he waddled past with one of the operatives’ shotguns clutched in his wide paws, its black matte surface caked with grey dust and some kind of foul green ichor.

“Evening Armory Sergeant.” Bogo replied, finally recognizing the short marsupial in charge of weapon and armor maintenance.

A veritable flood of greetings followed to the point that faces blurred and Bogo’s attempts at a proper greeting fell flat both due to his exhaustion and the amount of mammals throwing greetings his way.

Next time he should really avoid standing next to the only open bay door out of the hold if only to preserve his throat and sanity.

“Good evening Commander!”

“Good evening.”

“Hello Commander!”

“Good evening.”

“How’s it going Commander?”

“Evening.”

_Maybe if I avoid eye contact they won’t say anything?_

“Nice to see you Commander!”

“Evening…”

_No such luck…_

How’s your day going Commander?”

“Hmph.”

“Long time no see Chief!”

“Shut up Wilde.”

“Good evening Commander.”

“Good eve-“

“Commander Bogo!”

Bogo jerked out of his trance of automatic greetings and blinked down at a pair of long black tipped ears aimed up at him from knee-height. He had to stoop over a bit to see around his barrel chest to meet a pair of tired but excited amethyst eyes and the bunny doe they belonged to.

Bogo couldn’t recall her name yet, Skips? Pops? It was something like that.

Bogo frowned when he took in the doe’s condition. Gray dust and dried green ichor marred her fur and crusted them into patchy clumps, her tan body armor was in no better condition with a few flecks of blood stained across her damaged chest piece. Her rifle, a conventional X-9s from before the Invasion Bogo realized, hung under her arm unloaded and filthy.

“Yes?” Bogo asked as gently as he could, his voice rough from lack of sleep and stress.

The bunny’s ears fell behind her back as if she began questioning the wisdom in calling out the intimidating cape buffalo several hundred times her weight. She visibly swallowed and gathered her nerve and spoke again.

“Sir, it’s about Outrider- o-or rather who he is!”

Bogo’s brows rose higher and higher until it seemed they would leave his face altogether.

_She’s not saying what I think she is implying is she? Wilde is de-_

_“Long time no see Chief!”_

Bogo’s eyes widened, completely tuning out the bunny nervously babbling below him her arms waving around expressively.

“…He just vanished like- like a-“

“-Ghost.” Bogo whispered, shocking the bunny a little. Bogo whipped around and sprinted from the Avenger’s hold scattering personnel too slow or distracted to get out of his way with the little bunny soldier hot on his heels.

Bogo barreled into Med-Bay panting and sucking wind. He leaned against the doorway for support as he scanned the room of skittish medics staring up at him in confusion.

 

“Commander? What’s wrong?” Doctor Jack Tygan pulled away from the circle of medics surrounding Adriana Whifur’s bed and bounded down from the table to stand in front of the gasping cape buffalo.

“It’s Wilde.” Bogo gasped out. “Outrider is Wilde.” Doctor Tygan looked like someone had just slapped him with a cold fish, his mouth open and ears down his back. “He’s here and we can’t find him.”

“Wha-?” the confused doctor sputtered.

“Doctor,” Bogo heaved. “Shen, Where is Skye?”

Hearing the vixen’s name snapped the hare out of his fog. He regained his composure and squared his ears and shoulders.

“Follow me.”

\-------------------

“Skye?”

A soft tapping on the outside of the locked airlock roused the miserable vixen curled against the bar counter. The arctic fox’s drooped ears twitched but she otherwise was as still as a corpse.

Out in the hallway Nathan Oncason sighed, empathetic to Skye’s suffering, even through the haze of his own exhaustion. Every mammal on the Avenger has been working overtime, Nathan being no exception, having worked nearly two days straight.

The Jaguar bartender gently rested a mutilated paw on the lock door, unintentionally putting his mismatched fingers and missing claws on display to the large cats standing behind him. Leroy and Cemsay hardly batted an eye however, a number of the Avenger’s crew has similar scars, missing tails, mauled faces, and amputated limbs are a common sight among the resistance groups and settlements out in the fringe.

Nathan tried to rouse Skye one more time before he had to resort to unlocking the bar door letting himself and the two other cats inside. The sight that greeted him broke his heart. the sickly sweet smell of fruit flavored alcohol punched him in the nose and the floor was doted with patches of sticky strawberry juice. He noted there was also a puddle of vomit a few feet away from the bar underneath one of the stools and pressed up against the bar and curled up on the floor was Skye, her fur and clothes matted in dried strawberry juice.

“Oh, mi pobre pequeño zorro.” He cooed, crossing the pawpsicle stick strewn floor and scooping the miserable strawberry and vodka stained arctic vixen in his black furred arms.

Skye reacted to the comforting warmth and latched onto the tired jaguar and stuck her snout under his arm to stifle the dry sob that tore from her raw throat. Nathan found the cooler that had at one point held over 200 pawpsicles, seeing a quarter of them gone the jaguar let out a small indistinct noise of sadness. Skye must really being hurting badly to try and drown her suffering like this.

Nathan closed the cooler and sat on top all the while he swayed the distraught vixen in his arms and purred quiet reassurances in a mix of English and Spanish, his mind too tired and distracted to realize Skye wouldn’t be able to understand half of what he was saying. Thankfully it didn’t seem to matter, just being able to cling to the gentle feline bartender and hear his warm soothing whispers was enough to soothe her through alcohol addled misery.

While Nathan comforted Skye Leroy and Cemsay had trailed inside after the jaguar and took up stools, careful to avoid the puddle of vomit and the occasional strawberry stains.

Upon seeing the sorry state of the bar Leroy shot Cemsay a look that clearly said, ‘Shen never does anything by halves.’ Cemsay snorted and waved a large paw in relenting agreement. Though very true pointing that out now would be in poor taste.

After a few minutes Skye managed to calm down and reluctantly unglued herself from Nathan’s arms, though she still stayed in his lap and leaning against his chest looking drained but a bit less miserable. Looking around the bar she finally realized she had a small audience for her break-down she huffed but still didn’t move, she was too exhausted to care.

“Thanks Nate.” Skye mumbled, her voice still wobbly from the alcohol.

“Of course señora.” The jaguar crooked a roguish smile and patted the diminutive vixen between her ears. Skye snorted and weakly waved off his patting paw as if it were an irritating fly. Leroy and Cemsay chuckled at her plight, their purring laughter lightening the mood.

Skye crossed her arms and glared daggers at the chuckling cats, which did exactly nothing to stop them, she rolled her reddened eyes playfully and tapped Nathan’s thigh.

“Make yourself useful and get me another pawpsicle.” She commanded with a playful snobbish authority.

“I think you have had enough.” Nathan replied, frowning slightly. Skye turned her head up and molded herself against his chest, her eyes widening pleadingly.

“Please?” She whimpered. When he looked like he was going to refuse she cranked her “puppy-eyes” up to 11, finally breaking his resolve.

“That… is playing dirty.” He grumbled, turning his eyes away amidst Leroy and Cemsay’s giggling.

“Please Nathan? I’ve had the shittiest day and I don’t want to end it sober.” Skye asked.

“You’re hardly sober now.” Nathan replied, but he already knew he had lost their battle of wills so with a reluctant sigh he placed the swaying vixen on the floor and popped open the cooler to fish out a number of pawpsicles. He passed them out to a pleasantly surprised Leroy and Cemsay, but before he handed one to Skye he held it and met her eyes with a stern gaze.

“When I say you’ve had enough, then you will not argue, yes?”

Skye’s answer was to snatch the pawpsicle away and trail her pink ribbon of a tongue lavishly over the frozen treat with an impish grin on her face. Nathan shook his head with a helpless snort and popped his own pawpsicle into his maw. A delighted trill rose from his throat at the taste.

 

“Huh, this is actually good.” He commented, pulling the pawpsicle from his maw to speak. “Where did you come up with it?”

 

Skye’s smile faded, her eyes glazing over mournfully. “It… I learned it from Uncle Nick.”

 

“Nick Wilde?” Leroy piped up, earning a sharp glower from Nathan. The tiger had the decency to give Shen an apologetic look, his round ears lowering sheepishly.

 

Skye, to her credit, only sniffled a bit and licked her treat again, albeit with a somber far away look. To their surprise after a few quiet moments she was the one that broke the silence.

 

“It’s his birthday today.” She whispered. The cats turned their attention to the distracted vixen as she struggled with her words. “Dad and Uncle Nick’s birthdays are close together so when I was a kit we all used to just have one big party for them both.”

 

It seemed cathartic to talk about what was hurting her to a group of people she trusted. In the back of her mind she realized she only had the confidence to open up because she had shared this with Jack first. She didn’t really know what to think about that.

 

The cats all looked at each other, hesitant to bring up what was on their minds. Nathan tilted his head to the tiger and lion and they nodded in response. The jaguar looked down at the fox in his lap.

 

“What…. What was he like? Outrider I mean.” He asked a bit uncertain of where to take this conversation. To his relief a small smile broke over Skye’s muzzle and she stared down at the pawpsicle sitting in her lap.

 

“He…” She giggled; her voice rough from the regurgitated alcohol. “He was an asshole.”

 

Looking up and seeing her thoroughly confused audience’s jaws hanging in confusion Skye snickered.

 

“What? It’s true. Just because I loved the guy didn’t mean he was perfect.” She threw up her paws and waved her pawpsicle around for emphasis. “to be honest I sometimes saw him as more of a father than my own Dad.” She sighed.

 

“Yeah Uncle Nick was an asshole, but he was a lovable asshole. He may have been a bad mammal he did what he did for all the right reasons. He… Uncle Nick was snarky and unrepentantly sarcastic.

 

“-you forgot charming, witty, and handsome.”

 

Skye chuckled wetly, a few stray tears finding their way to her eyes.

 

“Yeah, sure.” She scoffed; her gaze trained back to the pawpsicle in her lap. “He could be infuriating and slippery with the slyest touch to ever grace a con-mammal thieving fingers-“

 

“-In my defense I was left unsupervised.”

 

Skye giggled and looked up from her lap and rose her pawpsicle to her mouth to take a bite. “Yeah you would always say tha-“

 

Her mind’s gears ground to a halt as a pair of hauntingly familiar emerald eyes stared back at her. All around her the other three felines blinked slack-jawed at the black clad fox that seemed to have just stepped out of Skye’s photograph. Skye froze, her pawpsicle still poised a few inches from her open mouth as she stared at what could only be a ghost.

 

He looked almost exactly like he had when he died, his features sharp and rugged, his fur a crimson-orange with a splash of white that ran from the underside of his jaw, down his neck and vanishing behind the folds of his dark livery, his paws ended in a dark charcoal brown closely matching his pitch black trench coat. Though she couldn’t see underneath his partially shredded clothing his body looked lean and coiled with powerful muscle.

 

Those beautiful emerald eyes dragged away from her gaze and a pair of red-orange furred ears snapped on straight on his head in pleasant surprise.

 

“Oh! A pawpsicle! Why Snowball you shouldn’t have.”

 

Then the ghost leaned in until his wiggling black nose was a scant inch from her own and his mouth closed around the frozen treat in her paw and snatched it away.

 

Skye’s suddenly parched throat worked to moisten her mouth but no words came out, she only managed to open and close her mouth a few times in numbed shock as she watched the blissful expression on the fox’s face as he snacked on the spiked pawpsicle. Nathan, Leroy and Cemsay were in much the same position, Cemsay’s face actually paled to the point his mane bleached a sandy white in fright.

 

When the ghost met her gaze again Skye’s brain seemed to finally jumpstart, though the only thing running through her head was disbelief. This is too good to be true, it had to be, right?

 

“Is…” Skye swallowed and tried again. “Is this a- a dream?” She stammered. “Or another nightmare?”

 

The red fox stopped his chewing and tiny near imperceptible smirk took over his face. the hint of razor sharp metal fangs flashed from beneath his lips. “I’m afraid not Snowball.”

Hearing her old nickname, something no-one but one mammal ever called her, broke something in her chest. Her vision swam as tears of confused joy filled her eyes, blurring the red fox’s face and for one terrifying moment Skye though she was really waking up.

“U-Uncle Nick?” She reached out blindly with trembling arms her paws uncurling pleadingly, but all she felt was cold air.

A pair of larger warm paws cupped her own and gently guided them forward until she felt a narrow muzzle and soft facial fur. Skye’s breath hitched and she blinked furiously to get herself under control as she began to desperately but carefully trail her paws over the once familiar cheek bones and around to the pair of triangular ears twitching atop his head.

 

She vaguely noted a scar free of facial fur just above his left eyebrow where a bullet fired at point blank range had grazed his temple, leaving a rigid trench in his handsome features.

 

When Skye breathed in the stench of blood, steel, and gunpowder hit her like a violent haymaker, but underneath all that she could just make up a faint scent that pulled at the furthest vestiges of her kithood memory.

 

He smelled like violets.

 

Without warning she flung herself at the red fox- at her Uncle Nick- and buried her head into the nape of his neck and bawled unashamedly like a little kit.

 

Her weight bore the injured fox to the ground but Nick dropped his half-eaten pawpsicle managed to gently set them both on the floor as she wrapped her entire body and fluffy white tail around him in a tight cocoon as she clung to him for dear life.

 

Slowly Nick’s stoic and hardened mask cracked until a few tears of his own leaked out and a small sob choked out and he returned his long lost niece’s embrace.

 

“You’ve grown up, Snowball.” He hoarsely whispered in her ear; his voice tight with emotion. Saying her nickname caused her to tighten her hold on him in case he were to suddenly vanish.

 

Out of the corner of his eye Nick saw a familiar cape buffalo charge into the room with a hare and that bunny soldier hot on his tail. They all stopped and stared sheepishly at the intimate embrace they found the foxes in, Bogo in particular looked stricken. The unfamiliar cats Nick had found SKye sitting with were all staring at him in a similar manner, their expressions one of slack jawed disbelief and a small amount of fear. Maybe later he would look back on this moment and laugh at their stunned faces but for now Nick deemed them unimportant and turned back to the vixen in his arms.

 

“Stay please.” She begged. “Don’t leave me again. Please don’t die again. Please don’t die…”

 

Nick wrapped his tail around her and guided her muzzle to the underside of his chin so he could scent mark her, just like he had when she was a little kit.

“I’m here.” He whispered as he rocked her back and forth. “I’m here, I’m back and I’m not leaving again.”

  
  
  
  


\----------------

A/N: ZCOM is back baby! Hallelujah!

 

Finally, Nick and Skye are happily reunited and the Avenger’s chief engineer has her favorite uncle back! Though now I wonder just how Bogo and the rest of the crew will react to Nick Wilde’s return...

 

Not going to lie, writing this took a lot out of me. 2019 has not been kind to me and both my time and drive to write have been virtually non-existent. I am striving to get back in the swing of things but it is a struggle, I only hope that y’all enjoy the fruit of my labors.

 

A shout-out to the creatures of the Writer’s Box, a small group of dedicated zootopia Fanfic writers on Discord that have been instrumental in their efforts to beta-read through this work.

 

Usernamesweretaken and CommanderAIK in particular. Y’all are awesome, thank you.

(On an unrelated note you, my dear reader, can find both of these authors’ work on AO3. check them out!)

 

\--------------------

I am Always on the lookout for more OC’s! (original characters) the heart and soul of the XCOM series is always the people you command as you lead them through the war against the alien menace, ZCOM is no different!

 

To submit your very own character into the ZCOM dossier I need these few things:

  1. Name, Age, Gender, Species
  2. Brief history (i.e. lived in the woods since the invasion until found by XCOM scouts)
  3. Basic personality traits (i.e. Optimistic, Clumsy, Womanizer)
  4. At least two positive traits (i.e. Good with a rifle, funny, fearless)
  5. At least two flaws (i.e. Hates foxes, fear of fire, alcoholic)



Post your character into the comment section below!

 


	3. Interlude 1: Take It Slow

 

=

Interlude 1: Take It Slow

 

Sometimes Central Officer Wolford wonders if there was a God watching over him from Heaven. In the face of such a mighty and horrific foe as the Aliens he sometimes feared that there was no God. The thought that scared him the most though was that if there is a God, then why would he allow monsters like these to even exist and why doesn’t he stop them?

 

Some nights when the tired wolf is staring down at the bottom of an empty bottle a nasty little voice of doubt pipes up from the dark cage Wolford had shoved it in.

 

_Perhaps there is a God, and he is not on your side._

 

Finding Commander Bogo though pushed that little voice further back into its cage, not silencing it exactly but quieting it all the same. Meeting Fangmeyer gave him something to hold onto after the Aliens were defeated and (dare he say?) finding her gave him hope.

 

All those warm and fuzzy feelings (mostly about a certain tigress) would have to wait until after he isn’t in a truck careening through the forest at nearly a hundred miles an hour.

 

“MAYDAY, MAYDAY. This is Central. We are mobile three Vic’s towards EP-Victor with multiple Xenos in pursuit. MAYDAY, MAYDAY.”

 

A harsh crackling whistle snapped across the speeding truck’s window and engulfed an unlucky pine in green plasma fire. The shockwave from the impact shattered the tree and washed over the vehicle sending it skidding across a patch of loam throwing churned earth up onto the windshield and slamming Wolford painfully against the door.

 

Wolford grunted in pain as he tried to right himself in the passenger seat and continued to speak into the radio in the hopes of hailing any reinforcements. In the back of his mind he vaguely recognized the dull pulsing in his side as the gunshot wound from Operation Gatecrasher had finally been torn open, feeding a pool of crimson that was growing steadily across his tan combat top.

 

Everything had been going well at first, until Wolford had lost radio communication with Shephard Squad just as they met with the Skirmisher and Reaper representatives for the negotiation. When he had tried to reestablish comms that was when everything starting exploding and a swarm of ADVENT troopers flooded in from the forest.

 

What started out as a command crew of thirty two with six trucks and one semi was cut down to twelve mammals and three trucks. They had to abandon the dead and destroy all their other sensitive equipment in their haste to break through the ring of advancing ADVENT troopers. No one liked leaving so many good mammals behind but they had no choice. Wolford counted his lucky stars that both he and Fangmeyer had made it out as one of those twelve.

 

The wolf glanced out of the corner of his eye to the mammals crammed in the back seat. Erik Esman, a golden wolf with a lion like mane and Czer Hunter, a foul tempered opossum sat on either side of the grim-faced tigress. When he turned his head the tigress looked up and for the briefest of moments met Fangmeyer’s wide green gaze. They may not have said anything but they didn’t have to, that one glance communicated enough.

 

Whatever Fangmeyer saw in his golden flaked brown eyes must have scared her because when she finally broke from his gaze she looked down at the ominous red stain spreading across his tan shirt and seemed to have to physically restrain herself from crawling into his lap.

 

Wolford reached his paw behind the seat and gave the tigress’ paw a brief but firm squeeze, she reciprocated with clamping down on his fingers like vice. Her grip hurt and his knuckles ground together but he didn’t want her to know that so instead he trailed his thumb over her paw comfortingly. His small gentle ministrations bled some of the tough and proud tigress’ terror and panic and she eventually eased her death-grip enough for Wolford to reluctantly slide his slightly aching fingers from her grasp and turn his attention back to the radio.

 

“How are they keeping up with us?!” The driver, a boar technician by the name of Bristol, exclaimed; terror souring the edge of his gruff shout. As he spoke another green plasma bolt whipped past the speeding truck and detonated on a pine in the distance.

 

Wolford attempted to hail any friendlies a few more times on the radio before throwing the handset under the mount.

 

“I think they are jamming our transmissions. I can barely reach the other trucks and they are only a few dozen yards away.” Wolford growled in frustration. The boar driver blanched and the mammals in the back went ashen faced.

 

Erik, the golden wolf, shifted the rotary cannon in his lap and peaked through the rear window. The remaining two trucks were trailing behind them still, one had a trail of black smoke trailing from beneath its hood from an unlucky shot from one of those plasma bolts but for now they were holding together. A number of bulky black vehicles resembling armored vans flickered into view every now and then through the underbrush beyond them. A portion of the closest van’s roof was open and a wolf ADVENT trooper manned a dangerous looking plasma cannon to their 7 o’clock, and his sights were trained right at him.

 

“SWERVE RIGHT!” Erik roared. The boar didn’t hesitate and jerked the wheel just in time as a green bolt ripped through the air and tore part of the truck’s flatbed from the chassis. A second later and they would have been vaporized, armored truck cab or not.

 

“Bloody Hell!” Czer snarled, the opossum shot Erik a glare. “Hey freak! How about instead of backseat drivin’ you put that oversized bullet mulcher of yours to good use and hang out that window and shoot ‘em!”

 

A throaty growl rose from the wolf. “How about I just open the window and throw you at the enemy instead?”

 

“If you two don’t shut the fuck up right now I will turn this truck right around!” Wolford snapped. Jokes aside both mammals didn’t miss the snarl coloring the edge of his words and wisely clamped their jaws closed.

 

Placated that the two idiots in the back had been pacified Wolford’s ears caught a senseless muttering over the roar of the truck’s engine. He glanced at his driver, the boar seemed to be babbling to himself. Wolford reached out a paw to shake the boar’s shoulder.

 

“Hey Bristol? Are you alri-“ The boar suddenly snapped ramrod straight in his seat and went completely ridged las if someone had pressed a taser to his spine.

 

Wolford jerked his paw away as Bristol’s eyes rolled back in his skull showing white and his head lolled back as his mouth open in abject terror.

 

Then the boar started screaming.

 

“Bristol! Scat! what’s wrong with him?!” Erik shouted over the boar’s wordless screaming, the technician now thrashing in his seat and jerking the truck’s wheel wildly in his throes.

 

Wolford had an idea on what was happening, but he prayed it wasn’t true. The wounded old wolf leapt across the console and tried to wrestle the wheel away from the crazed technician in time to steer the truck from ramming head on into a tree.

 

As he wrestled with the boar he looked up at the technician’s rolling eyes and to his horror saw an eerie purple glow from behind the mammal’s eye sockets.

 

_Mind Control._

With unnatural strength the boar threw ZCOM's Central Officer into the passenger side window and with one paw leveled the pump action shotgun in his lap at the stunned wolf. Adrenaline singing in his ears Wolford lashed a leg out at the barrel kicking it away and fouling the boar's aim. The shotgun went off, buckshot smashing into the windshield, clouding the compromised laminate into a mess of crumbling glass and cracks.  

 

Ears ringing from the gunshot just inches from his face Wolford saw his kick and  knocked the shotgun's stock into Bristol's chin. Not wanting to waste the scant second it bought him Wolford lunged forward wrestling for the wheel as the boar flailed his weapon around in one hoof. Fangmeyer managed to enter the fray and wrap her arm around the weapon as the boar screamed in mindless rage and thrashed about madly.

 

Bristol wasn’t able to break whatever Alien had taken hold of his mind and at this rate he was going to kill everyone in the truck. It left Wolford with no other options. He drew his pistol and pressed it to Bristol’s temple but for the briefest second he hesitated. It cost him dearly, the truck careened into the side of a tree, throwing the vehicle violently. Wolford nearly lost his grip on his sidearm and dove for the wheel in a desperate attempt to regain control of the truck.

 

“WATCH OUT!” Fangmeyer screamed. Wolford looked out of the windshield just in time to see a fallen tree inches from the glass. Far to close to dodge and far to late to do anything about it.

 

“Well, Shi-“

 

They hit the fallen tree hard, the impact crushed the engine compartment and warped the frame into a mess of flying metal and radiator fluid, effectively catapulting the truck tailgate-over-headlights. Wolford pulled back a little looking around with a calm mind, intent on drinking in what was quite possibly the last seconds of his life.

 

It’s strange how the faster death speeds toward him the slower time seemed to crawl. Wolford had felt this before, even as his body is driven wild by adrenaline, fear, and anger his mind was oddly clear. If he had to put a name to the sensation he’d say he felt… detached. Like he was a passenger in his own body and he was only along for the ride.

 

Bristol’s tusked maw was still wretched open in an incoherent scream Wolford couldn’t hear, his weapon pointed at the ceiling and held there by the tigress wrapped around it. Wolford’s gold tinged brown eyes turned to the half obscured windshield. The forest, at first a blur of spinning green and brown had slowed to a gently rotating panoramic of the forest floor and the blue sky peaking through the canopy above, though with every rotation the forest floor was getting closer and closer.

 

_Whatever, problems for two-seconds-from-now me._

 

Ignoring his impending doom spiraling ever closer Wolford trailed his gaze from the windshield to the tigress behind him. Her eyes were screwed shut, her jaws clenched and muscles tight, and round ears (Were they shorter than is?)  were pulled back against her head, anticipating the inevitable impact. She was beautiful, and if her face was the last he ever saw than he could live with that.

_If my pack were still alive I wonder how they would react if I had married a tiger?_

 

He cracked a grin and reached out a paw and traced a gentle line across her striped cheek as a shadow of a standing pine tree overtook the windshield behind him.

 

The spinning truck clipped the tree the collision horribly jarring, throwing bodies against the dashboard and like pressing the fast-forward button Wolford’s world spun faster and faster, playing catch-up for its temporary slow-motion reprieve. The truck ricocheted from the tree and smashed into the ground, cutting a gorge from the earth and cartwheeled into a boulder, once again launching into the air-

 

-Where it came crashing back down to earth with a sickening final crunch.

 

 

 

\----------------------

A/N: Hello Y’all! I realize that this update is severely short but I found that it didn’t truly fit in well with the rest of what I had written, so I separated it.

 

What Wolford experienced here is actually something I’m familiar with, its actual name is Tachypsychia. It’s a symptom of our fight-or-flight response and common in high-stress situations, in my case it was a car crash. Time seemed to slow down, even though I knew in my head that wasn’t the case. I tried to take my experience and adapt it for this story into something readable. (This includes what Wolford’s sarcastic “well shi-“ line right before impact. Haha!)

 

And lets not forget the Alien’s overpowered mind control powers! For those that haven’t played the XCOM series mind control is just one of the first powers your squad encounters and its every bit as frustrating to combat as it sounds. But what kind of monster could be capable of wielding that kind of power?

 

I suppose you’ll have to wait and see next time!

 

-Untraveled

 

\-------: ZCOM Character Dossier :-------

_Creator: Erik+Olson (AO3)_

Name: Erik Esman  
Age: 21  
Gender: Male  
Species: Wolf-lion hybrid

Brief history: Erik was branded as a freak by some, but others believed that he was a miracle, that he was special. Worked part-time as a caregiver with his mom, a lioness, looking after a family friend. When the Aliens attacked, he lost his wolf grandpa.  
Basic personality traits: Kind, helpful, sometimes laid-back, caring, compassionate, curious.  
Positive traits: Believes in peace but is willing to fight for what's right, never gives up, likes cleaning or fixing things, artistic, open-minded, high morals, sticks up for others, good with puzzles and riddles.  
Negative traits: Stubborn, easily angered by bullying, Naïve to a fault.

Physical traits: Hazel eyes, golden brown mane, retractable claws, wolf-like muzzle, dark fur.

_Creator: CzH (AO3)_

Name: Czer Hunter

Callsign: Ghost-Overwatch

Age: 31

Gender: Male

Species: Possum

Appearance: Bulky, Long scar across left eye

Brief history: A former PMC member who had the opportunity to be in one of the later established Advent zones, being able to hear of the dark things being done via a number of contacts led to him and his team basing themselves out in the wilds before being found by Black Market scouts. They subsequently followed their original trade and operate as on-loan security for various havens or force multipliers for Resistance ambushes, recently acquired as a team by Wolford to bolster rookie teams and those sent on vital missions.

Basic Personality Traits: Quiet, Focused, Prickly

Positive Traits: Experienced Soldier, Confident in combat leadership role, Unusually accurate with a rifle

Negative Traits: Abrasive attitude towards outsiders, brutal to anyone perceived as a threat, Reckless when faced with overwhelming odds

 


End file.
